China Babysits the World
by SoothsayerYui
Summary: After a disastrous world meeting, China (Zhū Ling) is determined to straighten the other "nations" out at the next meeting that will take place in his own country. However, he wonders what babysitting gods he has angered when he realizes they've all suddenly become children... (Name changes. Rated T for language.)
1. My Name is Zhū Ling

**WARNING: I have changed the majority of the "official" Hetalia character names. One of my favorite things about writing fanfiction is that you're free to put your own spin on things. If you don't like the name changes, just please don't leave me a review telling me to use their official names after I've given you advance notice.**

 **This story is a mix of serious self-reflection mixed with humor and silliness. It's mostly friendship-focused, and there will be little to no romance (because it's mostly children). It's dialogue-heavy and most chapters are twice the size of the first one.**

 **That said, please enjoy!**

* * *

Had he really been around for 4,000 years? No, probably more. It wouldn't come as much of a surprise if it had turned out he'd lost track of a few years… Or maybe a few hundred. Give or take.

But after so long, even he didn't know who they were, as "countries." Who they were, what they were, what purpose their ageless presence was for… Those who the country leaders would refer to, carelessly, as "embodiments of the nations." Somehow he felt that was too simple of a definition, and it sounded more important than he actually felt sometimes. He was a single person, and a single person could not control the unraveling history of the nation he was believed to represent in physical form.

He had been thinking about these things more and more lately, especially after how the meeting today had unraveled.

It had been the United States' turn to host the meeting this month, so the chaos hadn't been all that surprising. But he hadn't quite expected America and Russia to get into a heated argument so quickly. Sure, they had their history, but "America" was usually easygoing, and "Russia" really wasn't the grudge-holder he seemed to be.

But somehow that had created more arguments in passing. By the end, America was accusing Russia of war crimes, somehow World War II had been brought up and England and Germany (of all people) were arguing, and all the rest had either left from being extremely uncomfortable or annoyed. Thank God for Canada and Japan trying to keep the peace, anyone left acting mature would've been out the door, too.

China had almost been dragged into it, but he bit his tongue several times. (The last time actually hurt.) Then he took a deep breath. Standing out of his chair while over half of the meeting members were involved in the arguments, he slammed his fist down on the table. The sharp crack of a noise won everyone's attention… and the table cracking in half kept it there.

Japan muttered under his breath in Chinese, "I do not believe that was necessary."

"Are you sure?" he replied back in Chinese with a sigh. Then he addressed the table. "Now that you've all shut your arguing traps," he said loudly in English, "I want to say something."

"It's not about food, is it?" America asked sullenly, glaring at Russia out of the corner of his eye. "'Cause I could go for a lunch break right about now…"

Russia did not reply, but simply glared back.

"No, not about food." China took another deep breath, trying to contain the patience he had left in his body, and began once more. "You are all _children_. Every single one of you."

"Children?" England repeated, crossly at being lumped together. "Excuse—"

"Every single one of you," China said again, giving them all a look. "Yes, that includes you. And Germany. Russia. All of you. You know nothing but how to act like temperamental children."

"I wasn't the one who brought up an old war," Germany contended, crossing his arms. "Of all things. It has absolutely nothing to do with the meeting."

"You are right," China agreed. "But do you even remember who started that argument? Because I don't." He _had_ been trying to tune most of them out, but that was beside the point.

Regardless, his actual point seemed to hit its mark, as both Germany and England paused at him with a blank look. "I thought so. No one ever stops to think about what your arguments are really about. Or what you're really saying. America, lately, you want to blame Russia for everything because of a few isolated incidents. But how is that really his fault?"

"Well—what, you're kidding, right? I mean…" Then America crossed his arms, not wanting to admit that, maybe, that did sound a little ridiculous. "W…We can at least blame him for the 'isolated incidents…'"

"If you want to try that," Russia argued, with a smile full of warning, "I _will_ find a way to blame you for everything. It wouldn't be difficult."

"Wait," China interrupted before they could continue, "that is exactly my point. Look at each other for a moment, and ask yourselves, 'Why am I angry with this person? What did he do to me?'" Russia and America then stared at him, obviously not understanding. China sighed. "You _didn't_ do anything to each other… idiots. Not personally. You're blaming each other for what the people in your countries are doing."

"We are essentially our countries," Germany interrupted, bearing his usual strict code of honor. "We hold them on our backs. We take pride and responsibility for what they do."

"I don't know about that," China said, folding his arms thoughtfully. This new train of thought was certainly keeping everyone's attention. "We're individuals, aren't we? We have our own minds, our own bodies—we're just as human as anyone else. If you set aside our aging."

After a moment, he added, as if struck with a realization, "And _we have names_." Names. Of course. It was so important to feeling simply human. His brain felt lit up by the idea. "But most of us have never taken the time to actually know each other and ask, have we? We're too busy blaming each other and treating each other as nations."

It was a bit jarring, that the whole room was silent. They almost seemed shocked with him; he was usually distracted during meetings or bored, at least lately. And here he was scolding them like an old man would scold his grandchildren.

Importantly, as if symbolizing himself head of the group now, he set his hands on his hips. "I've decided. I am not a country or a nation. A country is a piece of dirt defined by boundaries and governments. I am a human. And I don't care how sudden and whimsical you all think that decision is."

He scanned the room carefully, reading their eyes. "My name is Zhu Ling. And I will encourage you all to think about giving up your own names during the meeting in _my_ hometown next month."

As China… No, _Ling_ began to walk out of the building, on the way to the hotel, he found himself thinking about history, as far back as he could remember. There must've been some point in time when he'd fought with everyone. No, when _China_ had fought with everyone. He may have held China dear in his heart, but he was his own person.

But he didn't hold grudges against anyone. He didn't blame any of the other "embodiments" for their countries.

He quickly became lost in his thoughts, which he tended to do when he thought about the past, when someone stopped him on his way back, a hand on his shoulder. Startled slightly, Ling whipped around, but was relieved to see it was just Russia.

That statement would sound odd to the others, "It was just Russia," but, really, people just assumed he was scary because people assumed all Russians were scary. Russia—or rather, this man _known as_ Russia, though guarded, and maybe even a bit broken, was very kind.

"Sorry," Russia said with a sheepish smile, "I did not mean to scare you."

Ling muttered in Chinese, scratching his head, but digressed. "Ah... Yes. Did you need something?"

"Ah, not especially…" After mulling over his words, Russia sighed softly. "I suppose I just wanted to say… I think you have a point. About our identities…"

After getting over a bit of surprise, Ling smiled to himself and nodded. "Nice to have someone on my side. Though, we'll probably just get dubbed the 'communist team,'" he almost muttered with a click of his tongue. But he sighed, and addressed Russia again. "So…"

"Hmm?"

"If you really do agree with me, then you'll tell me your name, won't you? We've known each other for a long time, haven't we?"

The Russian man seemed like he may have had second thoughts about it for a moment, looking pensive. But Ling stood firm even as he saw the other "nations" pouring out of the building and leaving for their vehicles. Some didn't pay them any attention, exhausted, and some seemed vaguely curious. Though they all left for home, not sparing more than a glance.

Meanwhile, the man known as Russia looked up to the cloudy sky and chuckled to himself for some reason. In all these years, something as simple as a name had been such a guarded thing—how silly it suddenly seemed, and all from what was probably a whimsical speech.

Beside himself, he looked back down and smiled with a little weight lost from his shoulders, and replied, "Of course… My name is Aleksandr Kolosov."

"Aleksandr," Ling repeated, grinning and holding his hand out. "A good name. Alright. Let's all start fresh, then. You can call me Ling."

Aleksandr shook his hand, "Very well, Ling. Also, I was thinking. Next month, I'll bring my sisters. I'm sure I can convince them to introduce themselves as well."

Ling gave him a skeptical eyebrow-raise. He wasn't so sure about that. "Hmm. Even Belarus?"

"Yes," Aleksandr said with a slight laugh, "Even Belarus. She's not so dark when you get to know her. Or I should say, 'if'."

I guess I'll take your word for it." Ling nodded firmly before turning to return home. "I just hope the others are as open-minded as you. See you next month."

Nodding along, Aleksandr wished him luck, "Udachi… Ling."

Maybe his speech had been on a whim, but he was starting to feel better about it. Like things had already been set in motion to change. It was something about the wind. It felt soft and calm against his face as he stood outside his house the next day, already planning the meeting out in his head.

He knew he had Kiku on his side, and now a somewhat unexpected ally in Aleksandr. He wasn't completely sure how Aleksandr's talking with his sisters would go, but it was something. He thought of the other "nations," and considered a few more that might be open to change…

Things could change… It was very possible. Though he figured they would still need some of Aleksandr's good luck.

"I'm actually looking forward to the next meeting," he mused to himself, smiling out aimlessly at the waters.

* * *

 **A/N: I originally wanted to occasionally write characters' dialogue in their own language, but I don't want to sloppily use Google Translate and butcher it. That's not to say the characters won't be speaking their natural languages, but it will be written in an assumed manner, such as:**

" **Don't tell me that whelp thinks he can beat me?" Gilbert bragged to his brother in German, crossing his arms.**

 **It's not as immersive, but hell, I don't know German.**

 **For what little I do have: "Udachi" is Russian for "good luck," as I tried to indicate with the text following it. I'll leave clues for that unless it's not supposed to be understood in the moment.**


	2. Babysitting Duty?

The day was today. The meeting this month between the "nations" would be held in Ling's hometown of Shanghai, China.

But instead of renting out a hotel or building like they usually did, he was going to hold the meeting in his own home. He went through with all of his preparations despite the mixed reactions of his fellow "nations" upon informing them.

His home was beautiful. Why shouldn't he hold it here? It was an eight-story red and white pagoda house that sat out on a misty blue lake, which was only accessible by the board walk. It seemed almost enchanted in the morning when the sun was dimly lit, the dew was still fresh, and the bells hanging on the arches chimed lightly next to the long tapestries. His home was far-set from the public, up on a mountain path and almost completely impossible to find without directions. He had lived here for about 700 years now (not too long), though the house had gone through multiple drastic remodels.

Ling had walked the circumference of the lake and sat down in the grass to relax and meditate. He'd been physically preparing his house and mentally preparing his mind since the last meeting. He was going to need it, too. He'd already predicted some of the arguments that could and would unfold with all of the participants. Well, invites, really. He didn't expect them all to show up.

Hypothetically, if everyone came as they were supposed to, he would have 18 guests. Japan (Kiku), Russia (Aleksandr), America, Canada, England, France, Germany, and Italy were the usual members; at least the ones that showed up the most. But he had pressed more members than that to be involved—the more the better, because with more voices and more opinions, the better chance the group as a whole may become more open to his idea. So, he was also expecting Aleksandr's sisters, Ukraine and Belarus; the "forgotten nations" Prussia and Romano, who hadn't attended a meeting in quite some time; along with Hungary, Austria, Spain, Belgium, Netherlands, and Luxembourg.

There were actually more than those that he had invited that had already turned him down. They were either busy or had a problem with his plan. Some people he knew personally, such as Taiwan (Yuen Mei), who would spite him for no reason other than to be obnoxious, and Hong Kong (Lin Huang), who did the same thing, but also didn't want to be bothered to gain comradery with other countries. He had the heart of a teenager.

Ling was quietly relaxing in meditation when one of his suited employees approached him from behind with no good warning. "Mr. Zhu, sir," he spoke shortly in Chinese, "all the other nations have arrived."

"YAAAH!" But Ling hadn't heard the man because he was too busy jumping out of his skin, jumping up and spinning around. When he saw who it was, he put down his combative hands and crossed his arms angrily. "What the hell?! Didn't I tell you not to interrupt me when I'm meditating?!"

Uh-oh. He'd done it now. "Uhm, sir, I apologize, but…"

Ling was onto a Chinese rant already, "Really, how many times have I told you that?! And you'd better be glad you weren't near me, because I would've probably kicked your head clear across the lake! So why _are_ you bothering me right now of all times?! I'm trying to brace myself for the impending disasters later when the other nations show up for a meeting!"

"Well, that's… Sir…"

…Oh, right. The meeting. Duh. "I see," Ling said, suddenly calming down and standing. "They're here then?"

The suit couldn't seem to keep up with his mood changes, "Well, yes, sir, they are, but…"

"But nothing. Are they inside?"

"A-All but one, who just arrived…"

"Very good. They're only a little late—I'm honestly shocked." Ling nodded to himself, smiling, and began to walk back around his lake.

The suit did not go after him. He was too busy internally panicking over Ling's reaction when he would see the problem… The problem that he wasn't quite able to explain to his boss, who he presumed would quite literally be able to kick his head clean off.

Ling strode around the lake with a steady pace and made it to the boardwalk in about five minutes. The other nations' suited guards had mostly left, which wasn't surprising; he'd told them he'd been planning a 3-day meeting instead of their regular single day, because he had a feeling it would take more than a few hours together to clear up their differences.

The suited stragglers that had been left were mostly out by the gates near the mountain path. They looked like nervous wrecks for some reason.

"Has someone already lost their temper?" Ling mumbled to himself thoughtfully. If that was the case, it was probably England or Germany (or Romano?), but he might end up being surprised today, considering the strange situation.

The tranquility of the day had, a moment later, been broken then by the echo of a child's hollering. From the sound of it, the child was in trouble and Ling suddenly became distressed. _What_ was a child doing here? Surely one of the others hadn't decided to bring one.

He began to see a child running towards him from farther down the walk, and appeared to be in a panic, and looked like he'd been running around for a few minutes already. His face was flushed red and strands of his hair fell everywhere. "Mister! Mister!" he called in English as he made his way to Ling.

This boy was American, most likely. "Er, yes?" Ling answered, kneeling down to his level as he approached. "What is the matter?"

"I—I can't find my brother!" the boy told him, clearly upset but trying not to cry. "We got separated after we got here. He's real shy and I think he got lost somewhere."

"Yes," Ling lamented, "it's quite easy to get lost in my house. But it's alright, we'll find him together. Come." Taking the situation in stride, he held out his hand to the boy, who seemed reluctant at first, but took it and they began to walk toward the house together.

This boy was very small. He couldn't have been more than…six years old. Maybe five. He had slightly dark blonde hair and sky-blue eyes, dressed casually in a red hoodie with jeans. His hand was a bit sticky; he'd probably been eating candy or something. But he just hoped this boy's brother had hid inside the house and not around the deck where he could've fallen into the lake…

"What does your brother look like?" Ling asked the boy. "Is he blonde like you?"

"W-Well…" The boy forced composure on himself before he continued. "Yeah, but… No. I mean, it's… ummm…" He was at a loss for a description for a moment. "Fluffy?"

Fluffy? Ling had to contain a snicker, as he'd just imagined a boy with cotton balls for hair. "O-Okay. Fluffy. Got it. What is his name?"

"Louis." The boy then looked up at Ling with purpose in his eyes, "Oh, and my name's Marshall! Marshall Freeman Jones!"

Ling smiled at him—probably a silly boy that was a lot more energetic when his brother's location wasn't questionable. "Good to meet you, Marhsall Free…"

…Freeman. Freeman? Marshall Freeman Jones? This American boy?

Ling trailed away from the conversation and had to double-take at the now confused-looking boy. Now that it occurred to him, the boy's hair… A bit spiky, and there was that cowlick… Could this boy be "America"?! How was that possible?

"Somethin' wrong, mister?" Marshalled asked, furrowing his brow at him.

"Uh… No…" But Ling continued to stare at him, perplexed. The resemblance was uncanny, and it unsettled him.

"Then why're ya makin' funny faces?" Marshall wanted to know.

Ling gave him a stern, but unsteady look, "I'm not making funny faces. I was just thinking." After considering questions to pose to Marshall, he asked, "Do you know where you are?"

"Uhm, no, not really," Marshall responded after a short-lived moment. "The tall weirdo guys in suits just dropped me off here. Me an' my brother didn't even get ta come here together."

Ling paused carefully, "Who brought your brother here?"

The boy shrugged. "I dunno. I think they were from Canadia." He paused. "Canada… Cana…" He wrinkled his nose as he tried in vain to remember which was correct. "The—That big, cold place north of us."

Ling had completely stopped walking then. This couldn't be a coincidence, could it? Or was he losing his ever-loving mind?

The boy stopped a few steps ahead of Ling and to give him a concerned look, "Mister? Are you sure you're okay?"

Ling didn't know what to say to him. But before too long he decided to just go with it and see what happened. "Nothing, nothing," he finally decided. "Let's go find your brother."

To get things moving faster, he plucked Marshall up from the ground to carry him piggyback-style—which the boy didn't mind at all—and began to run the rest of the boardwalk. "Which way inside? Do you remember?"

Marshall's response was littered with gleeful laughter, which he tried to contain in the middle of this situation, "It—It was the first room! I think he ran behind the stairs!"

Ling threw the large doors open with one hand—the first room, his entrance room, was wide and modestly decorated. It extended into two hallways that stood beside the large staircase that led to the second floor.

"I think he went left," Marshall chimed in. A second later he added, "No, I'm sure of it!"

"Alright, let's take a look." Left? The kitchen was that way. Maybe Louis had stumbled onto a snack in his eagerness to escape a group of strangers. It was understandable. If Ling had been a kid, he wouldn't want to be stuck around towering, creepy black suits, either.

"Louis!" Marshall shouted down the hall. It was piercing, right next to Ling's ear, but he didn't scold him and let him call out for his brother. "Louis, where are you? The weirdoes are gone!"

Making haste, they ducked in and out of every room until they made it to the kitchen. Ling held in a breath when he heard rustling on the other side of the room, behind the island counter.

Ling crouched down to let Marshall off of his back—the boy hopped off without blinking and ended up stumbling for it, but followed Ling as he rounded the counter.

"Okay, Louis, come out. It's not snack time yet," Ling said loudly to gain his attention. "Didn't you eat breakfast this—"

But the boy he found was not what he'd expected. Who he'd expected was a child version of "Canada." No, this boy—barely older than Marshall—was unrelated and completely unmistakable. He had white, grayish hair and bright red eyes.

Ling froze upon seeing this boy… and this had nothing to do with the fact that he had pulled off a bowl of dumplings and eaten them all for himself. He couldn't find any words.

What the hell was going on?

"Gack! I've been caught!" the white-haired boy yelled in German, causing Marshall to tilt his head in confusion. "I mean, I've done nothing!" he said clumsily and stood to his feet.

"You… You're…" Ling shook his head and pointed a finger at the new boy, "What is your name, little boy?" He asked it in English without thinking—from having spoken with Marshall earlier—and wondered if he should've asked the question in German.

But the boy now responded in English, ready to argue, "Hey! I'm not little!" He pointed back up at Ling with a wide, rambunctious grin, "I'm Gilbert Schwarzfurst—but you can call me the Great Prussia, old man!"

"HEY! You little brat!" Ling bit back.

He was more focused on the fact that his wild suspicions had been correct. This white-haired boy had just called himself "the Great Prussia."

Children. The nations must have all turned into children.

It made no sense, but it must have been true.

While Ling was distracted, "the Great Prussia" then took off out of the room and down the hall hollering some kind of battle cry. Ling had an instinct to chase his ass for a second, but… There was still Marshall's brother to find.

"Who was that?" Marshall asked with a very confused expression. "Who's Prussia?"

"I… I'll tell you later. We have to find your brother," Ling said, rubbing his temple and sighing dramatically. Every other thought was interrupted with "what am I going to do?"

"Yeah." Marshall contemplated the room for a second. "Well, he could still be hiding in here."

"I don't know. There's not really…"

Marshall wasn't listening to him, and started poking around the tables and counters. He then began to start opening cabinets, and Ling was about to stop him before he cluttered everything up…

And there he was. Marshall yelled out an "Ah-hah!" that startled his now-located brother, who was crouching inside one of the cabinets and cradling his knees.

Marshall soon got over his victory when he saw his brother was crying, and began to help him out of the cabinet. "It's okay, Louis!" he assured his little brother after a slight struggle.

"I-I wanna go home," Louis told him quietly, sniffling and rubbing his eyes. Once he noticed Ling, he started giving him brief, skittish looks out of the corner of his eyes.

"Don't cry. The scary weird guys are gone," Marshall urged, hugging him and patting his back. "I promise!"

Louis seemed somewhat comforted by that. Maybe it was just familiarity that did it, but Ling was very impressed by how easily Marshall was able to calm Louis down. He could never have imagined "America" soothing anyone. Then again, that was another example of the whole reason they were here for a meeting…

But obviously that had to hit the back burner. He had to figure out why in the name of hell everyone had turned into a child. "If you two are okay now…" Ling began, kneeling down and speaking carefully, "I'd like to talk to you."

Marshall held his brother's hand while he looked toward Ling with a brave face. "Yeah?"

Louis sniffled, still sitting on the floor, and asked meekly, "Did we do something?"

"No, no…" Ling told him, with a gentle smile. "I just want to ask if you know why you're here."

The five-or-so-year-old American child wracked his head. "Uhm… I dunno."

"What did the weirdos in suits tell you?"

"Oh. Well…" Marshall crossed his arms thoughtfully. "They said…I needed to behave myself and listen to the grown-ups," he remembered with a sure nod. "And don't wander off. And don't get into the candy."

Don't get into the candy. Ling remembered his sticky fingers. Even though it was off-topic. "You already got into the candy, didn't you?"

After a pause, Marshall turned sheepish while he tried to give Ling the old innocent-puppy-dog-eyes routine, "Um… Nooooo..."

"Empty your pockets, young man," Ling ordered, thoughtlessly sidetracked and overcome with a parental energy. Looking like he'd done this before, Marshall just huffed out a childish sigh and did as he was told.

Out of the pockets of his jeans came tons of candy wrappers, half of which Ling recognized from a bowl in the entrance room. The rest must have come from Marshall's home. Oh—but there was more. Once he was done emptying his jean pockets, he also scooped out candy from the front pocket on his hoodie, and soon Ling had a colorful, hazardous mess covering half of the floor space.

Ling stared at the floor for a second, and then back up at Marshall, who had a rather casual look about it. "You're just a mess, aren't you?" he asked, with a withering expression that made Marshall giggle at him.

This was ridiculous… But… How could he be mad at this boy? Not only was he adorable; this sticky-fingered candy thief was a little hero for his brother. In the wake of all this strangeness, he could let the candy slide.

So… what was his priority right now? He'd found America and Canada—who he knew now as Marshall and Louis—and had had a brief glimpse of "The Awesome Prussia," whose name was apparently Gilbert. So he needed to find the others. They were all supposed to be here already, according to his own assistant. He really hoped they hadn't run rampant and scattered in all directions around his house…

If he had known this would happen (not that there was any possible way he could've predicted it), he certainly would not have held the meeting here! His house was on a lake! He had no idea if any of them could swim as adults, so as kids…

"Mister," Marshall piped up, interrupting his thoughts, "you're makin' funny faces again."

"Y-Yes," Ling answered, standing in a slight panic. "Ah… Did you see any other children when you got here?"

"Nope," the American boy answered too quickly, then soon corrected himself. "Well… Yeah. I saw another boy with black hair sitting on the porch."

"Do you remember which side of the house it was?"

Marshall nodded surely, "It was the, um, the left side." He pointed to his right, then, and when he realized this he confused himself. He turned around a couple times to get it right in his head, going through a mental path that had his brother looking at him strangely, before coming up with a final answer. "No, it was left. But left, like… Like…" He made sure to turn so his direction would be correct. "Like that."

All of that to tell him it was left if he was facing the front doors to the house. What a five-year-old. Ling shook his head briefly. "Very good—I understand. Now," he added pointedly, "you two. Stay right here. Got it?"

"Why?" Marshall wanted to know.

"Because." Ling gave him a stern look, and pointed a finger at him, "I will come back for you in a minute. Soldier's promise, Marshall Freeman Jones."

The patriotic little boy couldn't argue with that, so he gave Ling his immature salute, "Okay, soldier's promise! I got it."

"Good!" Ling nodded at him, and then began to walk out of the room. He stopped briefly in the doorway, "And why don't you start cleaning this candy up? Don't fall on it and hurt yourselves!"

"Okay!" Marshall called back, and Louis echoed quietly.

Satisfied with their cooperation, Ling left the North American brothers to clean up the mess and, hopefully, stay in the kitchen.

He began to walk down the hallways of his house, passing rooms and not being able to go by any without poking his head inside. He was starting to realize just how enormous the house was. It could possibly take him all day to find these kids…

Kids. They were usually loud, in his experience, but he could hear nothing obvious throughout the house. It was a little disconcerting, but at least he'd been pointed to one of them already. He was going to have to take this one step at a time. He still didn't really know what to expect.

He made the trip through the hallways to the west entrance to the house, leading to the porch where, any gods willing, he would find the child with his feet on the porch and not flying over. Pushing open the red wooden doors, he was hit by the cool lake air again.

Soon after he stepped out, he saw the small figure of another five-or-so-year-old child some ways away.

It had to be Kiku. He could tell just from seeing the back of his head and the shape of his dark hair. But unlike Gilbert tearing through the house, Marshall scattering candy around, and Louis hiding in a cabinet, Kiku seemed calm and was sitting in front of the porch rail, looking through the bars out at the lake.

He always was a calm child, Ling thought to himself nostalgically. These days they didn't get to see each other a lot… Not even speaking to him yet, this was already starting to bring back memories.

But he didn't have time for that now. "Kiku?" he called, evenly enough so he wouldn't startle the boy. Almost immediately he turned to look over at Ling. After a brief pause, he stood up to come walking to him like a worried child might come to a parent.

"Yes, Ling-san?" Kiku asked him in Japanese.

Ling forgot why he was out there for a moment and slumped over. "Kiku, Kiku," he whined, kneeling down to get eye-level with him, and began to speak Japanese, "please. You don't have to be so formal!"

Kiku's eyebrows drew together in quiet confusion, "Formal?"

Ling sighed heavily. They weren't real brothers, he supposed… Though he considered Kiku to be like a brother. At least he hadn't reverted back to calling him "Zhu-san." It had taken him more than a century to get him to stop that.

"Uhm, it's nothing, never mind… Are you okay?"

"Yes, I am fine…" he responded a bit hesitantly. His worry concerned Ling, since he was usually so composed. "But…"

"But? Did something happen?"

Kiku twiddled his fingers nervously and glanced between Ling and the deck. "There are… There are a lot of children inside the house. They are very loud."

Ah, so he was right! But… how couldn't he have heard them by now? "Yes, I saw a few of them… Where were they? How long have you been out here?"

"I… Uhm… Not…very long… They are in… a dining room, I think…"

The dining room, of course! It was towards the middle of the first floor of his large house. His maze of hallways leading there were probably to blame for masking the noise. "Very good, Kiku! Now I can go quiet them down." He stood up straight, invigorated to go in and confront the noisy children. He held his hand out to Kiku, "Come with me, you will be okay."

The shy boy hesitated briefly, before smiling just a bit and taking Ling's hand. They walked back into the house together. But before he headed to the middle of the building, Ling went back towards the kitchen to round the other two boys up.

"Marshall? Louis?"

Ling let go of Kiku's hand to step into the kitchen. He couldn't see the boys, which worried him for a moment, but then he heard a muffled, "Yeah?"

He rounded the counter to find Marshall sitting on the ground, in the middle of the candy. Except now his face was covered in chocolate. So was Louis's, though he avoided eye contact when Ling gave him a look.

"Marshall. I told you to clean up the candy, not eat all of it."

"I didn't," he tried to say innocently, swallowing at the same time.

"Sure you didn't." Ling put his hands on his hips and pointed at them. "Alright, you two. Stand. Clean. Trash. On the double."

They only hesitated briefly. With his simple, stern instructions, he had the boys scrambling around the kitchen and picking up every single piece of candy wrapper, tossing it in the trash can. They picked the untouched candy and placed them on the counter island.

Then Ling washed their faces off with a washcloth. (Marshall hadn't appreciated that one bit, but Louis had been cooperative.) The whole time, Kiku stood timidly in the doorway, waiting.

"Alright, you're all clean…" Ling sighed. Then he gave the boys a look with his hands on his hips. "If you two hid any more candy in your pockets, I'm going to make you jump in the lake."

Marshall's and Louis's hands both shot up in defense. Since they didn't look like they had anything melting in their pockets, Ling decided to let them go.

"Okay, now!" he said, clapping his hands together, "The three of you—Marshall, Louis, Kiku! Let's go find the other kids!"

"Three?" Marshall asked.

"Yes, thr—" he cut off suddenly, turning around. "Kiku! Stop hiding in the hallway!"

He heard childish, Japanese muttering in response, "But I don't want to…"

Ling poked his head out and found him sitting on the floor. He spoke in English to get his attention, "Excuse me, young man?"

There was a pause. Kiku avoided eye contact. "I did not say anything…"

Then Marshall poked his head out, curiosity taken over. "Hi! I didn't know anybody was there! Who are you? Kiku?"

"Uhm… I—I am…" Completely taken off-guard by Marshall's carefree friendliness, Kiku clammed up and panicked.

Marshall tilted his head in confusion, "Huh? Did you say something?"

…As much as Ling would like Kiku to make friends, this could take a while. Kiku had been a bit of a shut-in as a child. And right now he had to find and take care of the others adults-turned-children.

"Let's do introductions later," Ling sighed. "Boys, come on, chop chop!" He plucked Kiku off the floor since he seemed the most hesitant, and glanced back at the brothers, "Marshall, get your brother! Women zou ba!"

Marshall grabbed his brother's hand, but he was confused, "What?"

"Agh, just come!"

Running through the halls with a startled Kiku clutching his chest, Ling thought that Marshall might be able to keep up with him if he hadn't had to drag his brother along. He slowed just enough so that Marshall would be able to see where he would turn into a hallway, which there were a lot of. A few times Ling had to redirect him because he was distracted by a decoration or a painting. Once he ran into a tapestry and got twisted up.

But finally—there was the dining room. Marked clearly by two large red doors, it stood smack in the middle of the house. He had repurposed it to hold the meeting. After all, he'd needed the biggest room he had available, big enough to hold a world war if that was at all likely to break out…

Ling set Kiku down to open the doors. He still didn't know what he expected before he opened them—a tyrannical mess? Children climbing the walls, food strewn everywhere, injuries, crying, chaos, hell?

Better to just open the doors and find out. It was the moment of truth.

Out of the entire wide room, centered with a huge round table covered with a white tablecloth, the first thing he saw was Gilbert—a.k.a. The Awesome Prussia—standing on the table.

Oh, good God... Gods. Whatever.

"Hey, you guys, pay attention to me!" Gilbert shouted at the other kids. It wasn't clear exactly who he was shouting to. His own brother was giving him a bland look from the side of the room. He was speaking in English, so maybe he was just yelling at the whole group.

Meanwhile, Romano was chasing Veneziano around the table, the latter running around with a slice of pizza for some reason. Spain and Belgium were running after Romano, though whether they were helping or making it worse was debatable. Belgium's brothers were standing off to the side.

Of all the kids he would've expected to be fighting, England and France were standing near the wall (with several empty child spaces between them), just quietly watching the others. The only ones left—Russia, Belarus, Hungary, and Austria—seemed to be the only ones paying attention to Gilbert.

They were all small children. They were all very young, probably between 5 and 8… That was all he could tell right away.

"Why should we pay attention to you?" Hungary combatted. They all seemed to be speaking in English. "You're not even a country anymore!"

Gilbert flinched, "I—I am, too!"

"Then where are you on a map?"

"I'm too awesome to be on a map!"

"That doesn't make any sense," Aleksandr muttered quietly, mostly to himself, but Gilbert caught it all the same.

"You wanna pick a fight, too?! I'll kick your butt—I don't care how big your dumb, cold country is!"

While Aleksandr seemed reluctant to get involved any further, his sister seemed to have a problem with it. "My brother does not need to fight you—I will fight you," she said with a completely serious, unsmiling expression. It was laughable because she was half his size and one of the youngest-looking in the room.

"Sister, no!"

"What?!" Gilbert gave Belarus a wild-eyed look, "Are you nuts? I ain't fightin' a little girl!"

"You were about to fight me a minute ago!" Hungary argued.

"You're not a real girl!" Gilbert argued back.

"What the heck does that mean?!"

Romano was now shouting over them, except in Italian. "Feliciano! That's my pizza!"

"But you threw mine!" his brother whined.

Meanwhile, Gilbert had started shouting at Austria, who he seemed to have also gotten into an argument with. "What are you, a bodyguard? I'll break you in half!"

Austria paled. "W-Wait, I'm—I'm not going to fight you…"

"Yeah, 'cause you'd lose, 'cause you're un-awesome!" He pointed dramatically at Austria as a declaration of war, "I don't usually fight girls, but I'll make an exception!"

"W-Wait—!"

" _Krieg!_ " And then Gilbert leapt off the table to actually fight him.

Chaos. Pure chaos. Ling couldn't think straight _. What in the hell… What am I going to do?_ he thought.

As he felt his patience withering away to the abyss, Ling blinked as Marshall squeezed between him and the door, into the room. Shortly after, Ling covered his ears in response to a painfully sharp whistle from this five-year-old, which successfully stopped everyone in the room in their tracks.

"Hey, everybody, shut up!" the American boy hollered at everyone in his now conveniently loud voice. "Mister… uh… He's got somethin' to say!"

Ling was still cringing from the whistle as Marshall glanced up at him with a wide grin, obviously proud of himself. Okay. Maybe he'd earned that candy he'd eaten earlier.

Now… he just had to figure out how to deal with all these children at once…

If that was possible. If he rewound a clock right now, could they just go back to tomorrow and everything could be normal?

* * *

 **A/N: Think of Chapter 1 as the prologue. From here on, the chapters will probably be more like this chapter's length.**

" **Krieg" is German for "war," and "Women zou ba" is Chinese for "let's go," as close as I can tell. The Chinese was supposed to have accents over the "o's" but it didn't paste correctly. Feel free to correct me (politely and with information) if I'm wrong.**


	3. Pint-Sized Chaos

**A/N: After seven months, I finally have a new chapter. I know it was a long gap, but I just work on certain stories when the mood strikes me.**

 **I do not own Hetalia.**

* * *

These children that were on the verge of breaking out of the dining room and dismantling his house. It was really a miracle that they'd kept themselves contained to one place. They'd probably formed a multi-faceted mob when they'd arrived, chasing each other in here all at the same time…

However that had worked out, Ling just sighed and faced the room after Marshall had graciously won all their attention. It was now truly a room full of children, he realized, flashing back to last month's meeting.

He hadn't cursed himself… had he?

He shook the thought from his head. That was ridiculous. "What do you all think you're doing?" he demanded. Marshall mirrored Ling's hands-on-the-hips stance and nodded emphatically while Louis and Kiku just stood behind.

He received mixed responses from the crowd.

"Fighting!" Gilbert declared, drowning out whatever Austria had said.

"Acting like an idiot!" Hungary countered.

"Eating pizza!" Veneziano answered, raising his pizza in demonstration and allowing some of the toppings to slide off.

Scowling, Romano slapped the pizza out of his hand for that. "Nice job, idiot! Now nobody has pizza!"

Veneziano whined in response. "That's because you threw it all on the floor!"

Had to start somewhere; Ling decided to tackle that first, pointing to the pizza, "You two, clean that up right now! You don't barge into someone's home and throw pizza everywhere!"

They instantly pointed at each other, echoing, "It was his fault!" Behind them, Spain and Belgium had just given up.

With a huff and grumble, Ling left them to turn his attention toward the back of the room, where the other fight was. "And you all back there! Stop fighting!"

"NEVER!" He heard a few voices drowned out by Gilbert, but he couldn't discern them.

Meanwhile, Romano had begun to show his brother how much he liked having a finger pointed in his face. They'd gotten into their own tussle that Spain and Belgium were trying to break up. (Netherlands and Luxembourg didn't seem inclined to assist.)

Ling had handled the first three kids without any problems, but now he had individual mobs on his hands! How was he going to handle this by himself?!

His first and only idea was aggressive authority, so he left the Italian mob to fight amongst itself to tackle the bigger problem: the Great Prussia.

To make a spectacle of himself, he cleanly leapt over the dining table onto the other side of the room and into the fray of Gilbert's fight. Gilbert shouted and stumbled backwards, gaping at Ling towering over him.

Ling bent forward and stuck his finger in the boy's face, "Listen up, Mr. Schwarzfurst! You're in _my_ house—do you understand?! I'm not going to have you starting—"

"Screw you, old man!" Gilbert barked back, nervousness forgotten as he remembered that he didn't have respect for authorities. "This is my fight!"

Wide-eyed, Ling stared at him, "What the hell did you just say to me?!"

His younger brother's voice mumbled from behind Ling, "Please, don't start…"

"No way! I start what I want to, and this ain't over!" With that message, he then took off out of the room, scurrying quickly. Like a rat, Ling couldn't help thinking, angrily.

But he couldn't chase after him now; there were 16 other children here!

Gilbert's brother just sighed despondently to himself, while Hungary pointed at the door and called after him, "Yeah! You better run, wimp!"

"Alright, alright! Enough of that!" Ling snapped, spinning around. "Calm down!"

Hungary seemed reluctant to follow his order, making a face, but still did as she was told. She seemed to be tending to Austria, while the other three—Germany, Aleksandr, and Belarus—were staying quiet, fortunately.

Then there was the matter of the Pizza War. He had to put the little kreig child out of his mind. Ling promptly ran back across the room after hearing the ongoing fight between the Italy brothers, even though it turned out to be little more than a slap and hair-pulling fight. He plucked them off the ground by the backs of their shirts as if they were cubs, but he certainly wasn't being motherly.

"You two!" he yelled over their objections. "Running around with food and then dropping it on the floor! Do you have any manners?!"

"I-I'm s-sorry…" Veneziano mumbled.

But Romano just clicked his tongue and resisted. "P-Put me down!" he whined.

Ling didn't have time to take his attitude seriously. He set them both back down, on either side of him, though, in case they still wanted to tussle.

With a deep sigh, he turned back to look at the rest of the room. "Does anyone else want to start a fight? Because I'll take care of it quickly!"

He scanned the room. Romano pouted and crossed his arms, sitting on the floor, while Veneziano seemed to switch sides and tried to cheer him up. Spain joined in, while Belgium rejoined her brothers. Across the room, England and France were unusually quiet, sitting together against the wall. Well, not really together. Somehow it struck him as odd.

Behind him, Marshall was trying to encourage Louis and Kiku to help get everyone together. The results were questionable, as they only seemed to look at him nervously.

Aleksandr and his sisters… Sister? There had been so much going on a moment ago that he'd just noticed Ukraine was not present. It was too bad, really; he could use her motherly/big-sister personality about now. It would also be nice if she showed up _not_ turned into a child like the rest of them, but that was about as likely as… well, any of this happening in the first place.

At least he had the immediate fights under control. But the idea of handling this still seemed impossible. It was the biggest babysitting job ever imagined, save for teaching a group of 30 young children with class lasting 24/7 at your own house and no help.

The task was daunting, to say the least, but he had to do something. "Alright… Everyone, line up."

There were several "why's" and complaints. He aggressively put his hands on his hips and faced the entire room. "Because I said so!" he stressed classically. "Now get over here before I roll all of you up into a rug and ship you off to the dump!"

While most of the children got up to follow his order, Marshall giggled, "That sounds fun!"

"No, it doesn't!" Louis interjected with a whine.

"Well, not the dump part, but—"

"Marshall, you too!" Ling told him. "March!"

With a deflated "aw," Marshall did as he was told. He and the rest of the children formed a line with their backs to the wall as if it were a military drill. It was the best thing he could think of under the circumstances.

Hands behind his back, Ling watched them all closely. He wasn't worried about Marshall going out of line (much) since he'd befriended him already. Obviously, Gilbert was going to be _the_ rebel. Hungary was a little firebrand, too, but she was somewhat reasonable. Other than that, unless Netherlands was going to be a stubborn ox, he could only foresee Romano being difficult. Hopefully his brother, Spain, and possibly Belgium could help with that. England and France had been completely silent the entire time, so he had no idea what to think of them. He didn't know them very much at all when they were young, but he had at least expected them to be difficult in some manner…

He knew what couldn't happen: so far the rest were behaving, but he couldn't let Gilbert make traitors out of anyone. Germany seemed sensible enough, but they were brothers, after all. And he was a little worried about Hungary's alliance as well, since he didn't really understand their relationship.

He didn't know much about any of the "countries," let alone their personal relationships. It was high time to stop assuming things, he supposed.

How to address them…? Since America—er, Marshall hadn't known who Ling was, or where they were, what could he assume, if anything, the others were aware of?

"Now then… If you don't know where you are, this is my house. My name is Ling."

Unsurprisingly, Marshall was the first to chime in. He'd raised his hand, but only after he started speaking, "So why are we here?"

Couldn't even give him an extra minute to come up with an excuse for that? Damn it with kids and their random questions. To stall, Ling asked, "That's a good question, Marshall… Do any of you know?"

There were hesitant, confused mutterings all around. Then Belgium spoke up. "The people who drove me and my brothers here said we were going to camp."

Yes, camp! That was perfect! Ling snapped his finger and grinned, "That's right, Belgium! Good job!"

But Romano was back to grumbling. "How long are we gonna be here?"

Ugh. How long would it be? He didn't even know when this… change had happened. It was impossible for him to answer that, so he awkwardly gave a vague answer, "Uh, a little while. But don't worry, I'll get you all settled in here soon. There are some rules, though!" He ignored the following grumbles with a steely gaze. "Number one! No going outside without permission! The house is on a lake and it's dangerous for you! Do you all understand that?"

Marshall raised his hands again, "But I can swim!"

Ling dropped his head and sighed. "You have to follow the rules either way, Marshall. …But just so I know, who here can't swim? Raise your hand."

From his right to his left, he scanned the children. Those who could not seemed to be: Kiku, Veneziano, Romano, Belgium, Luxembourg, Austria, Aleksandr, Belarus, and France. However, he didn't miss the pointed look France gave England, the latter of which pouted and stubbornly crossed his arms. Ling mentally added him to the group.

"Okay. Now… why don't you all introduce yourselves? We'll be here a while, after all."

It was sort of a cheating way to get their real names out of them, but after everything he'd talked and thought about in the last month, it seemed so impersonal to call them by the names of their countries.

But he noticed the kids shuffling around nervously. So he started from the right, with Kiku. "Can you help me?" he pleaded.

Kiku stalled, wringing his hands. He may not have understood at first. After staring at Ling, he timidly glanced aside at the other children, who all seemed to be watching him… _That_ didn't help anything. Inhaling quickly, he stepped back into the wall and stared directly down at his feet. Why did he have to start?

It was a muttering, but he did manage to speak. He wanted to help. "My—My name is… Yoshida Kiku."

Ling nodded, then looked at Louis. "And you? Let's take turns."

Louis really wished Marshall wasn't watching him, _right there_ , but he cooperated shyly. "I—Uhm… I'm… Louis…"

And of course, moving to Louis's right… "And I'm Marshall Freeman Jones!" he almost shouted, saluting the rest of the group.

"I'm Veneziano!" the boy to his right rang in next, unaffected by the shout.

No. That wasn't right. There must've been a misunderstanding. "Wait, wait," Ling interrupted. Hopefully this wouldn't confuse them further. "I meant your real names."

Veneziano blinked at him. It could've been curiosity or confusion. "Real names?"

"Yes. Is there something wrong with that?"

The boy hesitated, not looking like he knew what to do now.

And then there was his brother, who always knew what to do—say, in this case, as he crossed his arms defiantly. "We're not supposed to do that, dummy."

Ling bit his tongue to ignore the insult. He'd probably be hearing that a lot. "Why not? What's wrong with telling me your real names?"

"'Cause it's a secret!" Spain answered with a careless smile.

Oh, great. Even the easygoing ones were going to fight him on it. Soon enough, Spain had most of the others nodding in agreement. Ling crossed his arms, not particularly pleased. "Is that any way to treat your host? Besides, I might be 'China,' but I told you my name! And so did Kiku, Marshall, and Louis."

"But we're not supposed to," Spain reiterated childishly. Unfortunately, Ling thought with a groan, he had the friendship of a good chunk of the kids, and now he wouldn't be getting names out of the Italies or the Benelux group, either.

"Don't want to cooperate, huh? What bad guests." Crossing his arms and shaking his head at the children, he then looked directly at Germany. "What about you? Your brother gave me his name."

Germany was silent and still, unusually serious-looking for a child, though not surprising in his case. But despite his serious look, Ling could tell he was nervous.

Though the boy seemed to consider it for a moment, he only ended up dropping his gaze to the floor. After him, Hungary defiantly crossed her arms. "I don't trust grown-ups," she declared.

Austria also snubbed him, turning his nose away. After all the back-talk, Ling expected nothing from the children, which was quite accurate. Aleksandr was probably too nervous to say anything, and Belarus was just going to do whatever he did. Then, even compared to Aleksandr, France seemed _painfully_ shy, averting eye contact while his cheeks turned red. And finally, England didn't seem to be participating in the first place. He wasn't even looking in Ling's direction.

After a moment of silence, Ling let out a loud groan and started rambling to himself in Chinese, pacing around the room and throwing his hands in the air. "God! You brats! It's gonna be like this, huh?! You're just gonna band together for no good reason and won't even try to cooperate with me! Why did this have to happen to me?! Why are you all goddamn children?! Fuck my life!"

He didn't catch himself in time, and slapped a hand to his mouth. However, a moment later he remembered none of the others spoke Chinese.

…Except for Kiku. Wincing, he turned around to see the kids.

They were all either bewildered or amused by it. As far as Ling could tell, Kiku seemed only among the bewildered and didn't seem to have understood anything he'd said. Otherwise he'd probably be scolding him for cursing. (Which he had done as a child.)

Not very amused by them, Ling gave them a stern look. "You think I'm funny, do you?"

Marshall was giggling so much that he couldn't answer. But Veneziano answered, "Yes! You're very funny, signor Ling!"

Most of them seemed to be giggling up a storm. What to do with them, though? He'd barely stopped them from fighting a moment ago. "Do you know what children get for being disrespectful in my house?"

"No, what?" too many of them asked innocently.

They were rowdy and defiant. With innocent puppy-dog eyes by default. He faltered briefly, but he had to stand his ground. "They go to their rooms with no dinner."

Suddenly the giggling turned to sorrow, and many of the kids either whined loudly or looked horrified. The change was so quick that he wondered if there had been an earthquake, the room was rumbling so loudly with complaining children.

Well, he couldn't go back now! They were out of control! "Enough!" he hollered. "You're all going up to your rooms and you're going to stay there and think about what you've done!"

Only a handful seemed to be paying attention. Veneziano and Romano were complaining to each other, Marshall was just complaining loudly, and most of the others looked sullen. A high-spirited dissenter, Hungary, had the audacity to yell, "We will not!"

Possibly trying to lead an army, she tried to take off, hollering at the others to follow, but Ling easily scooped her up under his arm and gave the others a fierce look. "Anyone else want to try me?" he challenged while Hungary wriggled around. The room was silent again, save for a few sniffles from Veneziano.

Good enough. Maybe Hungary would serve as a good example. "Good. Follow me, now. Everyone form a line, starting from the back with England!"

Caught off guard, England finally turned his attention back to the group, panicked. He glanced over at the other children as if to say, "Why me?" But what he actually said, almost in a squeak, was "No…!"

Goddamn, could he just have one thing go smoothly? "I will not hesitate to carry you upstairs, too!"

He instantly saw the distaste in England's eyes. The boy hesitated, holding on his last shreds of obstinance, but eventually caved. Stubbornly crossing his arms, he walked out of the line-up against the wall and began to follow Ling, who was still carrying Hungary under his arm. (She had given up and crossed her arms as well.) After England, fortunately the others followed in file as he made his way out of the dining room and to their designated rooms upstairs.

Was it really a good idea to have the children in their own separate rooms? There had been some guests he'd already assumed would share; the siblings such as America and Canada, and Veneziano and Romano. After considering this out-of-control situation, he thought it might be best to break them up into groups of two.

All the rooms were on the second floor. As he thought about his house in the eyes of a child, everything seemed dangerous. The windows, the lake, all of the decorations they could swing from and valuables they could break. Locking them in rooms might also be necessary to child-proof everything… He didn't know how long they would be children.

For his sanity's sake, hopefully not more than a few days…

They marched up to the main hallway that, in one way or another, branched off to all of the rooms. He finally set Hungary down and looked at the group.

"I have very big rooms here. You'll have plenty of room to share with someone, so let's figure that out first." He started with the easiest. "Marshall and Louis, you'll be in the same room."

Sullenly, Marshall mumbled an "okay." It was a drastic change from his energy a bit ago, but it was probably over not getting dinner. He would explain later that he, his brother, and Kiku were an exception.

Speaking of Kiku… He probably wouldn't want to share with any of them, would he? "And… Kiku, you can stay in my room. I'll bring in another bed for you."

Kiku was silent, but smiled appreciatively.

"Italy brothers, you get a room together," he said next.

Veneziano was happy (well, as much as he could be with no dinner), while Romano actually made no comment.

"Belgium, Netherlands, and Luxembourg…" But he paused. That was three, and that would ruin his plan of 2-child groups. "Ah…"

"Can we all sleep in the same room?" Belgium suggested.

"Hmm… Yes, I suppose. Spain, will you stay with Veneziano and Romano?"

"Sure thing!" Of course now he was agreeable.

"Russia… You'll stay with your sister." He thought to ask where his other sister was, but he had enough to deal with right now.

Aleksandr simply nodded and said, "Okay."

Ling then looked to Germany and sighed. "Germany, after this I'm going to go look for your brother, and he'll be staying with you."

The boy only gave a silent nod.

Now There were only four left. "Hungary and Austria?" he asked.

Hungary agreed to it, with a nod and shrug, but Austria seemed to have an issue, making a face at Ling. "I thought girls and boys aren't supposed to share a room?"

Oh, no, no, he wasn't handling any issues like that. The most he would explain to anyone was that girls (or boys) didn't have cooties. With a huff, Ling held the side of his forehead as he felt an ache coming on. "Austria, it'll be fine. You can have one side of the room and she can have the other."

He continued to argue though, in a sort of know-it-all way, "Wouldn't it be better if she shared a room with Belgium? Or France?"

France?

After only a brief delay, the subject of confusion was distraught enough to forget his cherry-red face and crane his neck to give Austria a wild-eyed look. But he didn't seem to be paying attention to France, and no one seemed to know enough to correct him.

This had gotten way off-track… "Wait. Wait. I told you it doesn't matter! Now, everyone pair up, we're going to your rooms."

But now England seemed to have a thorn in his side about the plan. "No, wait! Does that mean I'm stuck with France?!"

Their relationship only confused Ling further as France directed his wounded look to the messy-haired English kid who wasn't even watching for a reaction. He just looked defiantly up at Ling.

"Yes, it does!" he bit back. "Now same thing as before! Everyone follow me! Don't get out of line and do as I say or you'll be getting stale rolls for breakfast!" This felt a lot like a drill sergeant, but he wasn't equipped or prepared to deal with all these children. He had to get his thoughts in order, formulate a strategy. God, that sounded like a lot of work…

They didn't form a neat line this time, but he at least got them all into their rooms. First off, he explained that Marshall, Louis, and Kiku could wait in the hallway because they'd been "good kids" and would get dinner like only "good kids" would. The others weren't very appreciative of that, but this "don't tell your real name" business must've been serious since none of them offered to have a second chance. So from then he moved on with his plan.

Each bedroom had a bathroom connected, so he figured they'd be fine if he kept them locked in for the night. It was already past 3:00, anyway. And really, he was protecting them from themselves. (Well, them and his house.)

He received a lot of complaints about being forced into their rooms, but after he threatened he could carry them all in himself they had no argument.

Well, mostly. Hungary had tried to declare war on him, which he put off. The bigger problem was England slamming the door shut before anyone else could get in. "I'm not sharing a room with anyone!" he shouted from inside. "Especially not France!"

"You little brat!" Ling shouted back, pounding on the door. "You're sharing whether you like it or not!"

"No!"

"Goddamn it…" he muttered under his breath. He spared France a look—the child was beside himself. "Don't worry, I'll get it sorted out."

But the boy shook his head. "I don't want go in there. He's mean."

Ling sighed and scratched his head. What to do with them? "Did you get into a fight?" he tried.

France didn't seem to know how to answer that and shrugged, despondently. It was sad enough, somehow, that Ling decided to give him special permission. And it was a way to spite England; possibly appeal to his petty side.

"Alright, fine!" he shouted at England's door. "You can stay up here and pout, but France is coming down with us to eat!"

"I don't care!"

What an outrageously stubborn child. Giving up, Ling muttered something under his breath, and then looked to France. "We'll show him. Come on."

France was silent and stalled for a moment, but followed him.

As they were almost down the hallway, there was a quiet knock on one of the doors. Thinking he might've heard something, Ling stalled. "Yes?" he said after a moment.

It was Germany's room. "Can I come out?" he asked hesitantly. "I want to… help find my bruder…"

Ling stalled. Could he break the rule for two? Maybe he wasn't as stern as he thought. Debating, he settled on offering, "Only if you promise to tell me your name later."

There was a moment of silence. But he answered. "Okay…"

From there, he led the remaining five children downstairs, to a sitting room. He told them to sit down talk to each other (or watch TV, whatever) and left them with one of his employees while he went to look for Gilbert. Germany had been surprisingly adamant about helping, so he at least humored him by appointing another employee to take him around the house.

"My name is Heinrich," Germany had told him, keeping his side of the bargain just before the suit took him to look around.

Two hours later, Ling didn't see hide or tail of Gilbert. How was that even possible? Was he camping out like a little warmonger in a cabinet or something? At that point, he was exhausted and went back inside to make dinner. It was relaxing for him, even though it was a little early for dinner.

But he didn't know what to do. This was like standing in the middle of a meteor shower and trying to catch them with your bare hands, while also trying not to get hurt. He needed to get everyone to bed to give himself the night to think.

Though was it possible to figure out how they'd been turned into children? What did they know? Did they have a sort of amnesia? They were at least aware that they were "countries," but they didn't seem to know each other, except with those that were particularly familiar.

Familiar, but not close. As far as he could tell, in the case of England and France. England would later still not let France into the room—had threatened to "throw stuff" at him—and Ling had no choice but to give him his own room. That was a fight that would have to wait until tomorrow.

Fortunately Germany—no, Heinrich, had coaxed his brother out (from inside a cabinet!), and somehow managed to talk him into going to bed. Heinrich was going to be an important ally…

Wiped out, Ling set the suits to the task of child-proofing the house, including taking the tapestries down, hiding breakables, nailing the windows shut, and locking the exit doors and kitchen doors up. Maybe tomorrow they wouldn't have to be locked in their rooms.

It wasn't like he didn't feel guilty about that. After all, he had caved on the "no dinner" rule, though he'd given them stale bread as promised. He knew they weren't all bad kids; they were probably more terrified than he was right now.

That was why he needed to clear his head. It was after 11:00 that he was out, walking around the lake. In his time, he had never seen anything like this. Hopefully he wouldn't have to dive into his ancient library for a solution, which he had been up-keeping for about 3,000 years now.

Ling stopped, halfway down the path around the lake, to look hopelessly up at the sky. He wasn't going to have to raise these children, was he?

"China might be the oldest country, but that shouldn't mean I have to babysit the others for the rest of my life…" he lamented with a slight pout. "Who did this to me?"

He listened to the nothingness, the darkness and crickets chirping, and the quiet sound of the lake moving with the faint breeze.

Or, it was quiet enough until a moment later. A noise from the lake stole his attention, water suddenly rippling around as if they were disturbed by something underneath. He stared blankly at it while the ripples began to move closer.

Flinching backward, he took a clumsy fighting stance and panicked. "What the hell?! Did I summon something?!"

Startlingly, it popped out of the water, knocking Ling backwards into the grass. A ball of blue light emerged, about the size of a basketball and hovering over the surface, at Ling's eye level. Its presence created a dull, echoing ringing noise.

But… a ball of light? What? He had expected some kind of lake monster! He jumped back up, ready to fight if necessary. If you could fight a ball of light, that was. "Who are you?!" he demanded, eyes bugging out.

"That is not important. You had a question?"

The ball of light could talk? Sure, he had demanded it speak, but he hadn't actually expected it to!

It was such a strange sensation, a light, ethereal one as if it was speaking directly to his brain. "How can you speak?!" Then he paused. "And why are you speaking in English?! You're in a Chinese lake!"

"Does it really matter? Maybe I'm not from China. Or maybe I just like the English language. Now, you had a question?"

Had he? "Uhm, sorry, I can't remember. I'm in _a little bit of shock!"_

"You asked who did this to you?" the light reminded him.

Oh, that's right. Ling looked at it skeptically. "Yes, I did. I suppose you're going to tell me it was some villainous ball of… darkness, and I have to go on a quest to—"

"No, it was me."

So nonchalant about it. Ling tempered himself not to take a swing at the damn thing. He was suddenly seething with rage. "You did this to me?! Why?!"

"I am a being of luck," it explained vaguely, still hovering there over the edge of the lake. "I listened to your meeting last month. I heard you call the other embodiments 'children,' and I thought, 'Hmm, now that's quite an unlucky thing to say.' And it came true. You see?"

Ling stared at it. It might as well be a three-headed alien. "No! That makes _NO_ _sense!_ " he bellowed. "You make no sense! What are you?!"

"I am a being of luck," it said again. "I fancy myself a god one day, though. More importantly, do you want to know how to reverse it?"

"Of course not! This is…" He trailed off, realizing what he'd said. "No, no, wait! Yes! Yes, how do I do that?!"

It was completely absurd. He was communicating with a talking ball of light that emerged from his lake and knew how to cure the immortal embodiments of countries that had been reverted into children.

He supposed the idea that they were immortal embodiments of countries in the first place was ridiculous enough. So how strange was this, really?

The light continued to speak into his head, but with more seriousness now. Almost somber.

"Your world might seem peaceful and advanced on the outside, but there is an underlying, intertwining web of chaos that will one day implode. You have somehow managed to keep most of the chaos out of your system, but these other nations are stockpiling it. Something terrible was going to happen to them if they kept this up. Turning into children was probably lucky after all.

Help them erase some of the chaos. As children, they may bare their hearts if you offer to help them. They aren't constricted with all the jades of adulthood.

Learn their names. Get to know them. Help them."


	4. The First Battle of the War

**A/N: I took quite a long break from Hetalia and writing, but I recently got back into the swing of things. So, here it is after a year and a half, China's first real step into reaching out to these kids! It's quite heavy with dialogue, and this may become normal.**

 **Also, warning: I don't like Austria very much, and you can tell in this chapter.**

* * *

It was about 8:00 in the morning. A square coffee table in the middle of Ling's room was covered in papers with inky Chinese chicken scratch, red markers, and a chart that listed all of the children in his house. Kiku had pitched in by drawing what he could remember of the children's' faces.

After realizing what he'd been tasked with last night, no matter how otherworldly it was, Ling began to make _a battle plan_. It was completely necessary.

At least he already knew six of the children's names. Kiku, Aleksandr, Marshall, Louis, Gilbert, and Heinrich. However, he had a suspicion that the ghostly, magic Ball of Enlightenment hadn't been suggesting that just learning their names was going to solve everything by itself. He needed to find out why they were all such problem children and… help them. Somehow.

Of course that part had to be vague.

He hadn't slept all night, hopped up on several gallons of coffee. "It would've been nice to be warned before I found out I'd had 17 children," Ling was mumbling to himself.

"Hmm?" Kiku muttered sleepily from the other side of the table. He was… mostly passed out. The silly child had insisted on trying to stay up with him, though he hadn't lasted long and ended up napping on the floor.

"Nothing," Ling laughed softly, shaking his head.

He was still reviewing his strategy. He'd listed all 17 of the devils, and assuming he hadn't "helped" any of them from their "chaos" yet, he ordered his list out of difficulty he could only imagine having with each child. This was based on how well he knew them in the past, how much he didn't know, the possible complexity of their "problem", and how difficult it would be to get along with them.

Obviously Gilbert was at the top of the list. He was followed by: England, Romano, Hungary, Belarus, Netherlands, Austria, Heinrich, Aleksandr, France, Italy, Luxembourg, Belgium, Spain, Kiku, Louis, and Marshall.

Honestly, he considered Belarus's problem to be entirely dependent on whatever Aleksandr's was. Which may be the same for Heinrich and Gilbert. Also, he wasn't even sure if the Benelux group _had_ any big problems; maybe they'd just showed up and weren't part of the equation. After all, they normally weren't part of the main meetings, and he never really heard about them having issues with other countries. Usually no news was good news.

It was difficult to figure out where to start, even when he had all acquired information laid out in front of him. Though no personal information he had on them _as adults_ would help! But what complex problems could they have when they were this young? What exactly did the damned Ball of Enlightening expect him to fix here?

It was while he was pondering this that he started to hear a pounding noise down the hall. It was followed by some kind of German war chant. …Maybe it would be best if Gilbert stayed in his room for a while. Ling could start on someone else.

Interrupting his thoughts again was Gilbert screeching back and forth with Hungary. So… _that_ was going to have to stop. Ling put himself together―straightening his clothes and tying his hair―before he walked out into the hallway, rattled with sounds of more and more screaming children by the second.

He bellowed into the hall, " _LISTEN UP!_ Anyone who wants breakfast instead of a prison cell is going to shut up and listen to me!"

The hallway quieted… some. Hungary miraculously stopped. But Gilbert was still shouting. "You can't do this to me! I'll invade your country!"

Ling swiftly ignored him and continued, "By all means, keep shouting if you love stale bread. I have plenty of it."

"I freaking LOVE stale bread!" Gilbert shouted.

A moment later, Marshall's and Louis's door opened, revealing Marshall to be grimacing. "I don't like stale bread," he whispered.

"Don't worry about it," Ling told him. "Alright, any other takers? I promise it's not _too_ terrible. If you like rocks, that is."

The only other child who stayed behind was England. That irritable child may have been even more obstinate than Gilbert, except he was pouting and refused to talk instead of jumping on the bed and shouting like a maniac. Even Romano couldn't object… not to food two times in a row.

Maybe it was thanks to the sleepy-eyed early morning, but the heathens were much calmer than last night. Ling brought them all into a living room and sat them in a circle around a low table. That way they could sit on the floor and eat instead of trying to climb onto adult chairs.

Breakfast was another issue. His staff had already prepared the planned breakfast, the idiots they were. Children 5 to 8 years old were not going to eat Chinese food! (Spoiled brats.) He shooed all his helpers out of the kitchen and made about 30 small pancakes in exactly 10 minutes. All by himself. (He expected several of them to have quite an appetite after last night's stale bread dinner.)

Everything seemed to be going okay, aside from sticky fingers and faces he'd have to clean up.

However, Heinrich just sort of stared at his food instead of eating. Ling couldn't read his expression, but he noticed the boy talking to Hungary and Austria sitting nearby.

"Is there something wrong with it?" Austria was asking nervously.

Heinrich silently shook his head, which prompted Hungary to say, "You know it's your own brother's fault that he doesn't get any?"

The boy just gave a (slightly annoyed?) shrug. "Mhh." He was quite listless.

Despite Heinrich's continued silence, she went on, "You know, I bet you could get him to stop raising hell. You're the only one he might listen to. But, listen, you gotta join _my_ side."

Heinrich simply sighed, while Ling put in, "Hey, kid. This isn't a war council."

Hungary crossed her arms dramatically, "Pssh! Everything is a war council when Gil―When Prussia's around!"

Wait. So she knew his name. That was interesting. …Though he did seem to be keen on shouting it to the heavens. So maybe it was nothing. Still, curious, he asked, "Is it?"

She huffed and threw her hands down, "Yes, you saw him! He just… Like, he wants to take over the world. Or something. And everybody else is a loser."

"He's the loser," Austria put in.

"He is not," Heinrich muttered.

" _Of course_ he is."

Ling sighed and butted in again, "While we're talking about him, were any of you friends with Gilbert before?"

Hungary and Austria answered in unison, "No." Meanwhile, Heinrich continued to mutter under his breath.

Ling was having an idea. While he would occasionally see Gilbert and Hungary getting along (as mildly as you could use the definition), he knew Gilbert and Austria flat-out despised each other. So maybe he was friends with Hungary at one point. Possibly. He could've been way off base.

The breakfast probably lasted around an hour and a half. Some of the kids ate quickly, some ate slowly, but it was bickering and inattentiveness that made it take so long.

When it was over, Ling had a plan to keep them occupied. He hadn't stayed up all night for nothing. "Alright, I'm assigning everyone ranks." In other words, making a game that they won't want to be left out of.

"What's that?" Italy asked, raising his hand.

Hungary suddenly looked interested, "Like military ranks?"

Marshall also raised his hand and asked, "Is it like, uhm, being a general?"

Would the children understand that? "Uh… S-Sure. And you know how you get better ranks? By behaving yourselves."

After a brief silence washed over the room, followed by a few groans, Romano was the first to roll his eyes. "That's lame. You just want us clean… or do chores, or something, right?" he pouted.

"No. The only reason you'll be cleaning is if you make a mess. What I was going to say is that if you behave yourselves, you get to play in the game room." Ling could've sworn every child simultaneously stopped squirming to look at him. "And if you're really good, I'll let you go outside and play."

Marshall immediately started pouting. " _Huh?_ We can't go outside?"

Ling sighed dramatically, "No! My house is on a lake, and I can't afford to let you all run around outside and hurt yourselves!" He couldn't possibly watch all of them by himself.

"I'll be fine!"

"Arguing deducts points," Ling warned him, deadpan.

"Points?"

"If you want to go outside, you need 50 points," Ling told him, though he came up with the number arbitrarily. It wasn't as if he would need to present evidence of a point system to small children. "And you can get points by winning a contest!"

Some of the children seemed confused (Heinrich) or unamused (Romano) while the rest were jumping or rocking on their feet. Over the excitable babbling, Ling clapped, "So! You're going to be using paper, glue, and crayons, and whoever makes the best house wins." And the smallest mess.

"We get to draw?" Italy threw his hands up and declared, "This is the best camp ever!"

"But I don't want to draw," Austria complained.

"I'm going to beat you all!" Hungary shouted.

Ling could already tell what was going to come out of this. About half of them no effort and about half of them too much effort.

He supplied them with a huge stockpile of crayons that he had dumped in a cardboard box, 20 bottles of glue (probably not his brightest idea), and stacks of various paper, cheap and colored. He set them up around the table, told them not to move from their seat unless they were reaching over the box for crayons, and gave them a 30 minute time limit.

Who knew why he'd had all that piled in his basement, but it worked. Hopefully he could repurpose this idea, because he wasn't exactly sure how he was going to keep the children entertained this whole time.

He stayed to monitor them for the first 15 minutes, but wondered what would happen if he left them by themselves during the last half. However…

Ling paced through the halls and found himself fidgeting and picking up little things that he normally wouldn't pay much attention to. Imagining the kids dumping glue in each other's hair, sticking crayons up their nose, crying over paper cuts… Trying to eat crayons… Poking each other in the eye… Stabbing each other with crayons.

He might have come back sooner than he meant to. Thankfully, he didn't return to a bloody crime scene. There seemed to be crayons scattered around the room, inside the ceiling lamp, puddles of glue, and small pieces of ripped paper, but…

"Wow," he muttered to himself. And for some reason all of their projects were lined up neatly. That was… eerie. "What happened in here?" Ling asked, mistified.

When no one answered, except for a few scattered, "Nothing"s or "it wasn't me"s, Kiku chimed in very quietly. "I, eh… helped clean up a little…"

Ling wanted to hug him for being such an adorable helpful, sane child. But he didn't want to crush and/or scare him. Instead, he said, "Wow! Ah… I'm surprised. I expected an earthquake." Moving on, he clapped his hands together, "Alright, stand up, I'm going to look at what everyone made."

He started with Marshall. He was entirely unsurprised to find a drawing of your basic boxy house, but colored to look like the USA's flag. There was a black, fuzzy blob next to it, though. "What is this?" Ling asked.

"My dog," Marshall said, proud of his work. "Bernie."

Bernie. After a moment, Ling muttered, "The Saint Bernard?"

"Yup! And there's her puppies."

"Her?"

"Yup."

Ling paused, not sure if he wanted to laugh or ask if the dog was real. Instead he simply nodded and moved onto his brother's drawing.

At first glance, Louis's was much less scatter-brained. It also reflected his shyness, because Ling had expected him to mimic Marshall's and make a Canadian flag. Instead, it was simply white and red with no special decorations. It was very neat, though.

"It's―It's… uhm… I didn't know what to do," Louis mumbled.

Ling shook his head, "No, it's nice."

Then, as Ling was moving on to the next one, Marshall shouted, "Hey! Wait, whose was better?"

Ling snapped around and gave him a look, "Points deducted! Now sit down and wait patiently." The boy did so sulkingly, grumbling to himself. Little brat.

He sighed and looked at Belarus's next. She didn't say a word to him or otherwise. Her… "house" was a complete mess of lines and various attempts at choosing a color. The house was made up of what he could only imagine were hexagonal shapes. He wondered if it was a reflection of how young she was supposed to be right now, or maybe her mind had a little ADHD going on.

"It is a house of ice," she quipped quietly a while after Ling didn't say anything.

It… definitely did not look like that, but points for creativity. "Ah-hah."

"It is… reflecting rainbows," she added.

Come again? Did she mean light or an actual rainbow? (And how would such a young child think of that?) …He supposed if he squinted at it, the drawing looked rainbow-ish.

Aleksandr's project was more methodical, especially considering the small, torn pieces of paper of varying shades of blue and white glued on top of each other to look like bricks and snow. The background was pitch black, though, which was a bit concerning. It made the picture quite eerie. But it was an igloo nonetheless, and since Aleksandr was bashful over the praise, Ling quickly moved on.

Netherlands' and Luxembourg's creations were mostly simplistic houses, though had more interesting backgrounds with grass, flowers, and even a windmill. Netherlands was much less invested in the competition. Belgium claimed to have made her house out of breakfast items such as a pancake, waffles, and bacon because she was apparently still hungry and "had better food at home."

This seemed to have started a trend around the next side of the table. Though just as bashful as Aleksandr, France's was easily the most well-drawn, and a gingerbread house at that. Spain had constructed a log-cabin looking house made completely of churros. ("You have to eat it to get inside.") And finally, shockingly, Italy and Romano had teamed up and made a… clustered food house. The walls were pizza, the roof was a plate of pasta, the windows were tomatoes, and the sun was a cheese pizza with a bite taken out of it.

Kiku's drawing was a recreation of Ling's own house. (Now that he'd thought about it, he was surprised no one else had tried that.) He took the moment to embarrass Kiku by ruffling his head before he moved onto the last three.

Austria's was… Well, a box with a door. He hadn't been kidding about not wanting to draw. Was he going to have an attitude too or was he just lazy?

Heinrich's drawing looked the most realistic. If not particularly creative. But it was Hungary's creation that had stood out the entire time.

It wasn't a flat drawing. It was pieces of soggy paper glued together into a sticky castle. She had ripped a brown piece of paper into a door shape and lined cubes on the top of the "building." If he hadn't gotten back on time, he might've thought she'd cheated.

"Okay," Ling said, standing in the middle of the room. "I want to say that I liked everyone's picture." Appreciated the effort was more accurate, but you had to say that to children. With one exception. "Except for Austria's, because he didn't even try."

"Hey!" Austria whined, almost under his breath.

"You don't try, you don't get points. You should've taken notes from Hungary."

Austria pouted and crossed his arms while Hungary cheered, "Yes! Does that mean I win?"

"At the very least, you get 100 points for effort!"

"Does that mean I can go outside?!"

"Yes, it does."

Hungary's victory caused some grumbling along the table, including some whining about wanting to go outside, too. Ling told them, "I still need to calculate points for the rest of you. Some of you may get to go outside later, so learn to be patient! Understood?"

He was met with mostly grumbling, so he just sighed to himself and dismissed it. "Okay, Hungary, you come with me. Everyone else, be on your best behavior. I'm going to have someone come watch you while we go outside."

"I wanna go too!" Marshall whined. He was echoed by Italy, Spain, and Belgium.

"I said wait! Anyone who complains will get more points deducted!" Ling gestured to his eyes and back at the children before he left the room with Hungary. (Hopefully the suit he put in charge of them could handle it.)

It was sunnier out than yesterday―or maybe it was just that it was dark and misty last night.

Either way, Hungary found a new burst of energy and bound away from Ling as soon as they stepped out onto his round-the-house porch. Ling kept a hawk's eye on her, though, as she jumped off of the porch and started to run the circumference of the lake.

When he caught up to her, she was knee-deep in dirt, twigs, and rocks. Ling gave her a withering look she didn't pay attention to and crossed his arms. "What in the―What is this?"

"It's gonna be my fort," she said. "I'm gonna make a slingshot, too."

He had a feeling she didn't know how to make a slingshot… …Or maybe she did. "Absolutely not!"

"I'm not going to use it in the house!" she promised. "I'm just gonna use it to hit Gilbert through the window." Then she paused. "Uh. I mean―Pr-Prussia."

"Uh-huh. Why don't you…"

In an odd moment of realization, Ling was starting to realize he had quite the "hard-ass" approach. Ling began to imagine Hungary throwing rocks at him after he pissed her off and then they would never get anywhere. So, to level with her―literally―he kneeled down to the ground and started to help her with her dirt and twigs fort.

It was kind of ridiculous, but it seemed to pleasantly surprise her. It was a bit of a stark contrast to her rebellion attempts yesterday. "You know how to build forts?"

"I know how to build more than forts." Ling said this as he pointed at his own tower of a house. (Maybe he was fibbing. Just a little.)

Hungary's eyes went wide, "No way."

"Yes way. Who do you think I am?"

"Hmmmm." Looking a bit impressed, she went back to constructing a small area of dirt wall with twigs and grass strands. "Maybe you're not bad, after all."

Thank God. She seemed more reasonable than he'd feared. "…So, tell me, what did Prussia do to deserve to get hit with a slingshot?"

After a hesitation, Hungary sighed dramatically. " _He_ started a war with _me_ ," she snarled. "But I'm gonna end it."

Ling scoffed. "Silly girl, wars never end."

"They do when you have a slingshot."

"Alright, alright. What is the war about?" he asked, resisting yet another sigh.

After glancing at him unsurely, she shrugged. "I don't know, I haven't asked him today. Yesterday it was because he wanted all the candy in your house."

"No, I mean…" Candy? There was no way this thing was about candy. "Why did you start fighting in the first place?"

"Oh. Well." She glanced up at his house (surely she didn't have his room memorized?), and then back at Ling warily. "You have to promise not to tell him."

"Erm… okay."

"Promise."

"Okay, okay, I promise."

She put her hands on her hips, and said, "He started picking on Austria."

That figured.

"And everyone knows Austria can't fight for himself."

Keeping a snicker out of his voice, Ling asked, "So… Are we talking about Austria the country or Austria the… person?"

She blinked at him, as if she didn't understand the question. At first. Then she frowned. "Oh. Well… Er, him the person, I guess."

"Right. You see how that's confusing?"

"Well… I guess…" But the stubborn child dodged that and continued, "Anyway, I was pretty much the only person who could stand up to him―Prussia. And now he's saying I'm not a girl."

All of this was just a childish version of their regular history together. Out of order, but still. "I'll tell you what," Ling said, thoughtful. "Let's set up a meeting. There'll be no screaming, no climbing things, and no slingshots. And Austria won't there, so he doesn't have to be involved."

Hungary was definitely giving him a dubious look. "You mean like a peace treaty? With Prussia? No way that's going to work."

"We could try."

"He doesn't care about rules. He'll probably start screaming and cilmb out the window or something."

"He'll pay for it," Ling assured her. "Look, you know he's got to be going crazy up in that room right now, right?"

This was going to be a challenge. Making the long trip back up to his house after assigning someone to watch Hungary, Ling couldn't help his imagining Gilbert sneaking out of the window―like she'd suggested―or some random crevice, to escape and wreak havoc over his house.

He was a little surprised it hadn't happened. Ling opened the door to find Gilbert hanging over the bed, upside-down. His entire face was red. With a pause, Ling asked, "What are you doing now?"

Gilbert puffed out air and then growled. "Damn it! I'm tryin' to see how long I can hold my breath!"

"Upside down?"

"Yeah, so? What do you want?" Gilbert suddenly sat forward… and then fell off the side from a rush of dizziness.

Ling didn't attempt to help him. Dumb kid. He shut the door before he did anything else. "Listen closely, Gilbert Schwarzfurst. I come to negotiate a peace treaty!"

Gilbert's head popped up from beside the bed. Even cross-eyed, he argued, "No way! I don't want any peace treaty with you."

"It's for Hungary."

"N… What?!" Gilbert pointed aggressively at him, "No way! She's trying to sabotage me!"

"She agreed to meet with you," Ling told him, crossing his arms. "She doesn't want to fight. You were the one who started everything.

Jumping on top of the bed, Gilbert growled at him and declared, "No way, it was all Austria's fault! He's a total weiner!"

That... was not completely inaccurate. Ling was starting to think they should just send Austria home. "I could make it so you don't even have to _look_ at Austria. You two just have to come to terms."

"Pssh. What kind of terms?"

"That depends."

Unsurprisingly, Gilbert brushed him off and sat on the bed. By God, he looked like he was pouting now. Ling gave a long sigh. The only way to deal with children was to bribe them, he swore. "There's chocolate in your future if you go and try your best not to scream and try to start a fight."

Gilbert opened one eye at him, with distrust, but interest. "What kind of chocolate?"

There was only one right answer to this question. "Only the most awesome chocolate that anyone ever created. And if you want it, you better listen to me."

"Hungary."

"Prussia."

The two children were having a sort of stare-down you would see from dogs meeting each other for the first time.

Ling had sat them down across from a table, in a room near the center of the house so there were no windows. He shut all the doors and sat at the table between them to begin the negotiations. Hopefully he could keep the barking to a minimum.

There was an unusual silence that was making him uncomfortable. "Why don't you start with your terms for the peace treaty?" Ling suggested.

"No more trying to beat up Austria," Hungary said, probably too soon.

"That guy is _asking_ to get beat up!" Gilbert argued.

Hungary growled, "Do you want a peace treaty or not?"

"I want chocolate!"

Ling shouted over both of them, "Alright, alright!" Leave it to children to turn it upside down immediately. "Obviously Austria is the main problem. So how about you two just don't talk to each other when he's around?"

"That's not gonna work!" Gilbert insisted. "What if he looks at me? I have to beat him up if he looks at me."

"Just ignore him. He'll hate that."

"That's no fun."

"What did he ever do to you?" Hungary huffed.

Ling only glanced back and forth between them as they continued to bicker.

Gilbert threw his hands up, "Gah! Why are you even friends with him? He's got a stick in his butt."

"Why do you care if I'm friends with him?"

"You can't be friends with me if you're friends with him!"

Stalling, confused with his choice of words, Hungary blinked at him. "Huh―Wh… Wait, why not?"

"Because he's weird, he only likes playing music, he thinks everyone is dumb, he only likes you because you're pretty, he's a weakling―"

Gilbert suddenly flinched when Hungary slammed her hands on the table, "WAIT."

"Uhm…" Gilbert stared at her. Crazy lady. "Wh-What?"

"What did you say?"

"I-I… Pssh. I―I didn't say anything."

Ling had no words. He noticed Gilbert wasn't blushing, but he did look like he might break out in a cold sweat.

"Yes you did."

"No I didn't."

"Yes you did, you said I'm pretty and you still want to be friends." Her tone had changed completely, like it was so amusing that it took her out of her funky mood.

"I did not say _either_ of those things!" he denied vehemently.

"You're weird," she told him.

" _You're_ weird."

"Gilbert, if you never say I'm not a girl, ever again, and stop picking fights with Austria, then I'll be friends with you again."

"I―I didn't say I wanted that." He sat there with his arms crossed like the petulant child he was. For about a minute. Then he may have relented a bit. "What if I only pick fights if you're not there?"

"Gilbert."

"Give me a break!"

"Ugh. Okay, fine. But no punching. You're like a gorilla."

"Tch. Fine."

"Fine."

They sat across from each other with their arms crossed. Ling stared at the center of the table, waiting for something else to happen.

Then suddenly he exclaimed, " _That's it?!_ "

He made both of them flinch. And look at him like he was the crazy one. "What's it?" Hungary asked.

"You―I thought―but… Both of you were…" He found himself making weird hand gestures that were supposed to depict a battle to the death.

No, he told himself. Don't fight it! Ling shook the unnecessary thoughts out of his head and corrected himself. "Ah, never mind. Th-This is great. Perfect. Ah… I just have one more thing I need to talk about―Hungary."

"Uh… Yeah?"

"Your name." When she hedged and gave him a distrustful look, he told her, "My goal is to have everyone get along. As much as we can. And friends know each other's names, right?"

"Since when are we friends?"

Ling's eye twitched, "Agh, throw me a bone, dammit!"

She chewed on it for a moment. "Okay. Maybe I'll tell you if you don't tell anyone else."

It was something. "Only if you agree to tell them in your own time."

"But why?" she whined. "What if we go to war? It's a weakness!"

"No one's going to war," Ling told her. "Just because people from our home countries fight, does that mean we have to hate each other?"

"Well… no…"

She was a very stubborn child. But after some silence and deep thoughts, as deep as a child younger than 10 could get. she finally gave in. She finally told Ling, "My name is… Erzsébet Juhasz."

* * *

 **A/N: Just for the record, I'm not shipping Prussia and Hungary in this story, even in an innocent childish way. Saying Hungary was pretty was just a matter of fact. :P**

 **I do not own Hetalia.**


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